


Stanton

by irishgirlE



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Crushes, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Names, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishgirlE/pseuds/irishgirlE
Summary: They announced his name, his full name. His first name, his last, and his middle name. The name that was his and that he was proud of, but also the name that was so indescribably Fereldan that he hadn’t dared tell anyone for the sheer embarrassment of it.Only, he had told someone.





	Stanton

They announced his name, his _full_ name. His first name, his last, and his middle name. The name that was his and that he was proud of, but also the name that was so indescribably Fereldan that he hadn’t dared tell anyone for the sheer embarrassment of it.

Only, he had told someone.

Warden Amell – Solona. The first woman he had ever loved. At the time, it was nothing more than a crush, but he had loved her. Deeply. Perhaps not truly romantically, certainly not just sexually, but every moment they had spent together brought a lightness to his heart that even the years and the memory of the horrible words that he had thrown at her could not dull.

Solona had been at another Circle when he first arrived for his training, all long legs and uncoordinated sword swipes. Hours spent training, practising, honing his skills, dogging his Knight Captain and Knight Commanders’ steps, repeating and retracing, copying adapting, pleading and begging every older Templar to run a drill with him, spar, teach him _something_ , help him prove that joining the Order hadn’t been a mistake. Hours spent ignoring sniggering Mages as he slipped in mud, crashed to the ground, bruised and bled. Dozens of encounters with new faces, hiding their smirks, as they handed over cloth to wipe away the worst, several more memorable encounters with an elf girl openly laughing at him and then trying to put pressure on the shallow but long gash in his cheek. Apprentice Surana. Neria.

He grew used to her presence, was already used to her teasing, grew fond of her, grew to love her like a sister – loving like Mia and mischievous like Rosie, even clever like Bran. On the day that she came down to watch him train with Carroll, equal to and surpassing his fellows but too used to the routine to relax his regiment or to stop, he didn’t notice her friend until he tripped up Carroll with an admittedly illegal move and she laughed.

Cullen had read – been forced to read – countless trashy romance tales during his time in the Circle. He knew all the descriptions of fair maidens that there was. The voice – the laugh – was always important; _like silver bells, like a waterfall, like whispering wind._ Solona’s laugh was like a horse.

And, from the moment that she snorted loudly and suddenly enough to distract him and allow Carroll to sweep out his legs and knock him flat on his back, giving him his first glimpse of her, upside down and travel weary, he loved her.

He had smiled up at her and introduced himself. Solona had tried to hide her overly loud laugh behind her hand even as she offered her spare to heft him to his feet. Her hands were still pink with almost healed burns and the bandages on her wrists hid blemished skin. Cullen was at her side often enough to track as each little white burn faded and disappeared with the aid of healing magic and carefully applied salves. He had been young then and the idea of scars didn’t faze him, unable to see a future, good or bad, scarred or pure. He had been young, and he had only known magic to be beautiful. Dangerous, but beautiful. Just like her.

He dogged her steps in his free time now, inviting her to watch him spar, offering to teach her to play chess, asking to see her magic, requesting she join him on walks, even wondering if she would ever like to spar with him. In another life, it might have been courting. In this life, he had just wanted her company. She always laughed and agreed. However forward he might have been in his invitations, she was always the one in charge and effortlessly left him stammering and blushing in a way that made Neria and Carroll guffaw to see.

He had been younger then, younger and without fear, without understanding of _consequences_ , without truly understanding that impossible means impossible. Without knowing that theirs was a doomed encounter, they could never truly love, live and last in a world like theirs, like the one that Cullen fought for and the one that Solona would nearly die for. The one that Cullen would – _secretly resentfully_ – be prepared to sacrifice his health, his sanity, for.

He had cut his own shackles in her honour and her memory, the memory of the girl that he had loved, rather than the Warden that he still did.

The Warden, the Mage, the Apprentice, the girl – his _friend._

The woman that he had shared his secrets with, shared his name with. In the world of shared fantasies, of recited legends and myths, that sort of thing was infinitely important. And even in their world, it was still an offer of vulnerability, an offer into the man rather than the Templar, and Solona had held it gently in her hands and placed it close to her heart, remembering it years later to tell a spymaster. Cullen held her close to his heart still. He was past the point of being angry about anything in Kinloch Hold. All that was left of that dark place was pain.

But, on a chilling spring evening, as day bleed into night, it had been ablaze with sun fire, alive. It had been filled with the shouts and squeals of children playing and learning, the cheers and jeers of training Initiates, the singing and joking of relaxing Templars, the spells and explosions of Enchanters and Apprentices. It had been a beautiful place, once.

On a lower floor, Greagoir waited to speak to a certain Apprentice, and said Apprentice lingered on the roof with a certain Templar sent to fetch her.

“Solona?” Cullen prompted. “Greagoir is waiting.”

Solona ignored him, brushing her fingers over the last traces of burns on her skin. A fire mage, she had burned her own hands. Her own desires and untampered enthusiasm scarring her flesh. Her gaze was fixed on the sinking sun, tracing the burning lines in the sky, her eyes ablaze, or at least reflecting the fire. She looked like living sunshine, alive and immortal, vital to the survival of all life, including his.

That was one memory that the demons of Kinloch never successfully tainted, no matter how hard they tried. They couldn’t turn her into something that reached out and hurt, or something that shrunk back and died. She was too godlike for that, too untouchable, unreachable, something otherworldly that he was unworthy to get to see but able to anyway because Solona was a forgiving goddess.

It was blasphemy to think such things, but Cullen was young and didn’t truly believe in danger yet. He only saw beauty, he didn’t fear danger. He knew of the fire but didn’t believe that he could ever be burned. He didn’t understand the darkness that would fill his soul once she left. If he had known, he might have kissed her then and there, because the darkness took him anyway. It couldn’t be any worse after a blinding light, surely?

“Solona?” He said, again.

“Do you ever wish you could just fly away and escape it all, Cullen?” Solona asked, not hurried but still all in one breath, like she had to say it now, or else she would lose the words forever.

Cullen would become very familiar with the feeling of not having the words to describe how he felt in his later years, but he was young then. He only had easy facts and the truth. “Sometimes. Not by flying away though. I like to imagine running across the landscape on all fours like a beast rather than flying. But that might just be me.”

Solona chuckled, but she didn’t look at him. Her lips curled up. “Yes, you would be my lion and I would be your bird.”

Cullen imagined a phoenix, rising from its own ashes, ablaze eternally, unhindered by even death. She would make a beautiful bird. She would be beautiful whatever she was.

“What’s wrong?” Cullen asked, brows furrowed, moving closer to her. His brain knew that his visions of her as a burning goddess were just tricks of the light, his heart knew that she would never hurt him anyway.

Solona shook her head. “I can’t, Cullen. I can’t say it.”

Cullen frowned deeper. “Is it a secret?” He wondered. Secrets were a form of currency in the Circles. He was a warrior through and through, and by the time of the Inquisition he was too out of practice, but when he was young and in the thick of things he knew the true value of a secret. The little things that he knew were incredibly useful to get about day to day, like the way that Irving and Wynne would sometimes creep out of Greagoir’s room in the middle of the night. Sometimes both on the same night.

Solona shook her head. Not a denial, but not an answer. Just ‘no’.

Cullen bit his lip. “If it’s a secret, do you want to trade?”

Solona tilted her head towards him, her eyes flicking to his. “Trade?”

Cullen nodded. “Yeah, I’ll tell you something about me if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Solona bit her lip, considering. “I don’t know how to say it,” she admitted. “I think it’s just… I miss my family, but – I’ve never known my family. Not that I remember them anyway. Irving is my family. Neria is my family. _You_ are my family. But, I just want something… _more_.”

“Something beyond the horizon. I know the feeling.” Cullen had grown up in a village that could be circled in an hour, twice. He knew all about wanting more – and being unable to describe that _more_. The only difference was that escape, adventure, that indescribable, unattainable more, was all available to him.

A caged bird could never fly.

“I am happy here, Cullen. I just want more. But, I don’t want to lose my home either. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ll never lose any of us, Solona,” Cullen promised. “Like you said, we’re family. All of us. Even Jowan.”

Solona chucked. Her bright eyes alight. “And what about you, Cullen?” She wondered. “What is your secret?”

Cullen pondered a moment. He didn’t have many secrets of his own, the result of all of his friends being gossips. He wanted something that would encourage the smile on Solona’s face. He grinned. He shot a glance behind him to ensure that they were alone and crept even closer to Solona to reduce the risk of being overheard.

“Alright,” he said, his breath brushed across her face, stirring the flyaway hairs the stuck to her cheeks. He paused for effect. “My middle name is Stanton.”

Solona frowned. “Stanton?” She repeated. “Cullen Stanton Ruther -” she cut herself off with a giggle. “Oh. Oh, that is…” she giggled.

“You can say it’s stupid if you want,” Cullen said, leaning back and grinning wider. “I don’t mind it but, it’s a lot.”

“It’s very… Fereldan,” Solona agreed from between her fingers where she tried to muffle her laughter.

Cullen nodded. “Very.” He grinned. “I’ve heard of eight folk heroes with that name. I don’t know what my parents were thinking.”

Solona shook with laughter still, even with her lips pressed together in a wide grin. “Thank you, Cullen. I think I needed that.”

Cullen smiled. “I didn’t, but I’m always happy to help.” He offered his arm. “Greagoir will be wondering where we’ve gotten off to.”

Solona slipped her arm around his and let him lead. “Such as gentlemen, _Stanton_.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Maker’s Breath, Solona. Keep your voice down. I don’t need the whole of the Tower to know. A man’s entitled to that much privacy.”

“Don’t worry, Cullen,” said Solona. “Everyone in this tower’s got a secret or two. They all come out eventually.”

 


End file.
